


Chrysanthemum

by Phyrren (rainbeep)



Series: cockpit conversations [1]
Category: Star Wars: Edge of the Empire (Roleplaying Game), Star Wars: The Old Republic Era
Genre: F/M, Late Night Conversations, Mild Language, i'm contractually obligated to post this SOMEWHERE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 08:31:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19849417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainbeep/pseuds/Phyrren
Summary: “If only Fezzik had aimed a bit better. Maybe I wouldn’t have any of it left in me.”Arden and Phyrrus discuss her tattooes.





	Chrysanthemum

He heard a door open and bare feet pad across the metal floor, a hushed chuckle reverberating before being cut off - the door shutting a  _ little _ too firmly to cut it off. In the reflection of the glass he could see her, hair wet and dripping down her shoulders, working to pull the length into a bun on the top of her head. A bra and skin-clinging shorts were the only things she had pulled on before escaping their shipmate’s laughter.

She was late, but he wasn’t about to ask what had delayed her as she approached ( - not that he  _ needed _ to, anyway.) Arden lifted a foot, nudging him out of the main seat of the cockpit. His fingers batted her away before grabbing his mug, sliding down to the left hand seat. 

“Sorry,” she stated, clearing her throat. “Was running some numbers. Y’know.”

“I know,” Phyrrus said, bringing his mug to his lips, eyebrows raising. “Had to go back over your  _ addition _ .”

“Yep.” Her words were easy, sitting down in the pilot’s seat without hesitation. She brought a foot up to the seat, sitting at an angle so she could throw the other knee over the seat arm. “Adding some credits to my name, y’know.”

He grunted, the noise pulling a lopsided grin onto her face. Eyes skimmed over his, over the hand holding his mug, the gentle shake that didn’t go unnoticed.

“Y’gotta cut back on the caffeine, Phy. You’re gonna get a complex.”

Another noise - noncommittal, almost as if he were verbally waving her off, moving to put the cup off to the side. This time it was his turn to peek at her, her flippant hands on the different parts of the cockpit, green irises dancing over the displays. Over the scarred expanse of her ribs and shoulder, mottled and discolored, the disrupted pigment on her back.

He had never seen the artwork that littered her back and left thigh until her stay on Coruscant - and Phy hadn’t mentioned it even then, the watercolor markings almost familiar. Almost as if they resided on wine bottles littering the galaxy, almost as if he had put his palm around one or two in his lifetime.

“How’s it look?” She asked, lilted eyes meeting his. Arden turned her back so it faced him, hooking one of the straps with her thumb and pulling it down. “I never got to see how it healed. ...it really ate up my tattoo, didn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Phy responded, exhaling. “It blew out all the pigment. Some of it’s still legible, though. Could’ve been worse.”

“I paid  _ good money _ to have it done,” she said, shoulders falling. “Family heirloom and all that. Language of flowers.”

“That’s some rich people shit.”

He heard her laugh, shaking her head. Arden’s hair dripped onto her back, marking a trail over a yellow flower before soaking into her bra.

“It is. I was young and it was pretty. It’s probably for the best it’s ruined. It’s been years since I’ve seen a chrysanthemum.”

“You had it done by choice?”

“Yeah.” her voice was puzzled. “Didn’t you?”

He leaned back in his seat, shaking his head. She  _ was _ younger and more naive than he thought, he kept having to remind himself. Arden had seen her slice of the galaxy, and he had seen his - but it seemed they didn’t overlap very much.

Except for the wine bottle with the yellow flower on the front. A chrysanthemum, she said.

“Ours are given based off of accomplishments,” he said, taking a drink and trying to still his quivering hand. “Battles won, enemies killed, things of those nature. And you  _ willingly _ had yours done?”

“Yeah,” she said quietly, shrugging her shoulders. “My parents do well for themselves, and I was proud of it for a while.” A pause, head lulling to gaze at him, sweet and sour all at once. “But I usually charge men to tell them stories, and they’re usually not  _ true _ .”

“Is that what you were doing with Fezzik? Telling him a  _ story _ ?”

“Sure,” she replied, grinning. “Sure. I’ll tell you one if you wanna part with some  _ credits _ .”

She adjusted herself in her seat, putting her leg up on the computer system. Phyrrus looked over at her thigh, the splash of amber and yellow, a different flower entirely taking up the expanse of the skin.

“How much do you charge for  _ true _ stories, then?”

“I don’t.” A pause, reaching over to snag his coffee cup from him. “You ever been to Alderaan? These grow in the summer there. They’re called sunflowers. They stand for loyalty, bravery, that kinda shit.”

“And what pompous fool decided that?”

A shrug, a sip and then a grimace as she passed the drink back to him.

“Not me, man. Some old fuckin’ white man, probably.”

“What’s the other one mean, then?”

Her eyes met his again, flat, void. Endlessly hazel. He wondered if he had underestimated the slice of space she’d seen.

“Imperial,” she said, pulling her strap back up and rising from the chair. “If only Fezzik had aimed a bit better. Maybe I wouldn’t have any of it left in me.”

He knew he had.


End file.
